Clara
As we step out of the library, the heavy wooden doors shut behind us, leaving the smell of old paper behind.
"I'll catch up to you guys on my bike." Zach announces, breaking away from the group.
He does love his bike...
"I've sent the location to you, so I'll meet you there!" He adds, directing the message to Alister, who silently nods in acknowledgement.
"Coming, Steph?" Zach asks, tossing a casual glance at Stephanie.
She stretches her arms overhead in a lazy arc. "Sure, why not?" she answers as she goes after him.
I stare after them for a second too long, my fingers tightening around the strap of my purse. The wind ruffles the hem of my dress as I look away.
Strange...I don't feel heartbroken or empty like I expected to. Perhaps it's because we're all going to the same place anyway.
"You okay?" Alister's voice pulls me out of my thoughts. He's closer now, hands stuffed in his coat pockets.
"Why wouldn't I be!?" I reply quickly as I back away. "Let's go."
As I walk to wherever Alister said he parked his car, I feel my pace quicken along with my pulse. I don't even realize how fast I'm walking until—
Thud.
I slam into something small, knocking him to the ground. I blink and look down to see a little boy sitting on the ground, clutching an empty cone, his ice cream now a sad, melting mess a few feet away.
His big, brown eyes stare up at me, round with shock, lip already quivering.
"Oh, I'm so sorry!" I say, reaching out to him. "Are you okay?"
And then, just like that, he bursts into tears.
"Making kids cry? Is that your new hobby?" Alister's dry voice cuts through the air as he approaches.
I glance up at him with a glare. "Shut up. It was an accident."
The kid's eyes go up to him. He looks like he's about to cry harder.
"Hey, hey, it's ok." I murmur, brushing some dirt from his clothes. "Look—we'll get you a new one, alright? This nice man over here will buy you any flavor you want."
"This nice man isn't buying anything since it's not his fault," Alister says, raising a brow and nodding toward the boy. "And can you not see the two glaring cavities inside him?"
The boy sobs harder.
A woman—his mother, presumably—rushes over, breathless and alarmed. "It's okay," she whispers, brushing a hand through his curls. She scoops him up into her arms with ease before offering an apologetic smile. "Sorry about him."
I nod, offering a small smile, but I barely hear her next words.
"We'll get another one, sweetie." She murmurs into his ear.
Something twists in my chest—sharp and aching.
Did my mother ever hold me like that?
The only arms I remember feeling safe in were Nancy's. My nanny. The woman who hummed lullabies while brushing my hair, who bandaged my scraped knees and told me I was brave. The one person who made me feel wanted.
And they fired her like she meant nothing.
Just like I was brought in—like I meant nothing. How ugly must I have been as a baby for my birth parent to give me away so easily?
"Why are you sulking?" Alister asks as he crouches beside me, elbow resting on one knee. "Do you want to be carried too?"
I huff, a half-hearted breath that might have been a laugh if I had the energy. "You wouldn't dare. Not infront of people."
I can sense that he's tempted to prove me wrong "You're the only one who cares what they think." The hint of mischief in his eyes dances, and for a moment, I wonder if he'll actually follow through on his words. But instead, he gets up and offers me his hand.
I take it, and he helps me up to my feet. A part of me wonders if Alister's secretly a mind reader. Or maybe I'm just that obvious that I don't want to draw attention right now.
As we walk, a familiar voice, sharp with false sweetness, floats from the patio of the coffee shop we're passing.
Sophia.
I freeze mid-step. My entire body goes rigid as I instinctively glance toward the sound.
She, Ryan, Agnes, and Fred all walk out of the café and gather around an outdoor table like it's their private stage, laughing and holding hot drinks.
"You're right, I swear, Clara has been so out of it lately," Ryan says. "Like, hollow-cheeked and twitchy, kind of awful. Like she hasn't slept in a month."
Agnes leans in. "And that makeup? It's not even helping anymore. She thinks caking her face hides those ugly dark circles, but they're right there."
Great. Can this day get any worse?
"Let's go." I whisper, tugging at Alister's sleeve as my hand tightens into a fist at my side, nails digging into my palm.
"Shh," he says.
Irritation pricks at my skin. Does he seriously want to stay and listen to all this? He's enjoying it, isn't he? And he's even forcing me to listen.
"You're evil." I mumble, frowning at him.
Sophia tugs the hem of her designer shirt. "I got her to buy this for me last month. All you have to do is butter her up and she'll fold. She's always so easy when you stroke her ego just right."
Alister finally speaks. "You're really going to let that slide?"
I don't answer.
"Why aren't you in there tearing them apart? Use that razor-sharp tongue of yours. You've got no problem mouthing off to a murderer like me—what's this compared to that?"
I exhale slowly, folding my arms tight across my chest. "It's different...when it's you."
The corner of his mouth twitches, but I'm already staring past him. "This is just how they are. It's always been like this between us. Symbiotic. They get what they want—access and favors. I get what I want. To be adored. Praises. Even if it's fake. Doesn't matter how anyone truly feels."
Alister says nothing, and I nod towards them.
"Agnes and Fred are both cheating on each other. Ryan's dad is drowning in gambling debt, and Sophia's spending time with junkies in someone's unfinished basement. If I wanted to ruin them, I could do it before they finish their next sip."
My smirk fades before it fully forms. "It'd be easy to lash out now. But it wouldn't feel right later. Not when I'm alone."
I glance over—and catch Alister watching me with a weird softness I'm not used to.
"Take it as a little advice," I tell him. "Not every problem is solved by killing or violence."
"I highly doubt that."
"Well, this is hardly that type of situation." I then surprise myself—and him—by grabbing his wrist and pulling him along. "Let's go now. The others must be waiting."
I walk forward, tugging him along. My hand trembles just a little. So slightly I tell myself he won't notice.
Behind us, their voices explode like a firecracker.
"Ahh! It burns!" Agnes yells.
I start to turn, but Alister slips from my grasp and moves behind me, hand firm against my back, pushing me forward while his body blocks my view.
"Keep walking."
His eyes are glowing silver. Just for a second. Then they flicker back to brown like nothing happened.
I narrow my eyes. "What did I just say to you?"
"Nothing in the world is more important than one's self-respect." He answers while looking ahead.
I fall silent.
Behind us, Sophia's still shrieking—ranting about burns and her branded shirt.
Almost against my will—I feel a smile tug at the corner of my mouth. And my body feels light. The heaviness in my chest begins to lift, little by little. That smothering fog that's been clinging to me for awhile starts to thin.
"Listen… I've been thinking about what Zach said. About the whole kidnapping an artifact hunter thing."
I sigh, unable to mask my apprehension. "I'm assuming you realize the risks far outweigh the benefits."
"Not if we're careful," Alister replies smoothly. "I doubt they even know who we are at this point. If we plan every detail, if we prepare for the worst… we might just pull it off."
He speaks like it's already decided.
"Overconfidence will be your downfall one day," I say, shaking my head.
He hums and side-eyes me. "Maybe something else will beat overconfidence to it."
I groan, dragging my hands down my face. "Look, I didn't want to bring this up, but you need to hear it. You're not as powerful as you think you are. You're smart, yeah. You can manipulate people, get things done, and I'll admit, you do it well. But that only works when you know the target. When you've studied them—how they think, how they move. But these hunters? We don't know anything about them. You really think you, with an unstable ability, no higher connections, no backup if things spiral, and no one by your side… You think you can just walk in and win?"
Alister raises a brow, unfazed. "You won't be by my side?"
His words hit like a sucker punch.
Why does he have to say it like that? Like it's absurd to think I wouldn't be with him. like it's natural that I'd be there, backing him up.
"Of course not!" I say looking away too quickly, pretending to adjust the sleeve of my dress just to buy a moment. Pull it together. I will the flutter in my stomach to die down.
When I finally meet his gaze again, I force a tight smirk. "I know what you're thinking. You're planning to make my invisibility the centerpiece of your brilliant, reckless strategy. You probably already pictured me sneaking past security, stealing intel, unlocking a door from the inside—whatever gets you your dramatic win."
I cross my arms. "But I have no intention of diving headfirst into a fire pit with you."
He opens his mouth, but I cut him off with "And I hope that ruins your plan. I hope it forces you to come up with something painfully complex and exhausting, and you end up scrapping the whole thing out of sheer frustration."
There's a beat of silence. He doesn't look away. The corner of his mouth lifts just slightly, amused. He turns his head forward, gaze settling on his car parked just ahead.
"My turn to give you a little advice," he starts. "You might be right about all of it. But if all we ever did was measure ourselves by what we can't do... we'd never move. We'd rot in place. Paralyzed by what-ifs, by fear, by the idea that unless we're born ready, we shouldn't bother trying."
His tone isn't angry or proud—it's calm.
"You compensate for the things you lack. And when compensation isn't enough—you take. If I lack power, I'll cultivate or take it. If my ability cuts me down, then I'll sharpen it until it no longer does. And if knowledge is what I'm missing…" His voice tightens slightly. "Then I'll become obsessed. I'll tear them apart word by word, secret by secret, until I know them better than they know themselves. The world doesn't give you permission to be ready—it never has. You don't wait for capability. You grow into it. You force it."
Then he looks at me.
"And if freedom is what I crave...then I'm not going to wait around hoping someone will hand it to me out of kindness. I'll take it. With my own hands. Even if I have to burn everything around me."
He then turns and walks toward the car parked beneath a streetlamp. The keys jingle as he unlocks the door.
"Alister." I call as my brows knit.
He pauses with one hand on the door handle, not even looking back. "Relax. I said I was just thinking."
He scares me sometimes. I mean, I should definitely be scared of him for my life since he's a killer. But it's not because of that or that he's ruthless, but because he's so deliberate. Like every broken piece inside him has been repurposed into something sharper, something more dangerous. He talks about taking power like it's a birthright he just hasn't claimed yet.
And the worst part? I believe he could do it. I believe he will.
♡...........💙.........♡
"This? This is where you were lost!?" I exclaim in horror, gesturing around wildly like the scenery personally offended me.
The buildings are slouched and sagging, like they've long given up on holding themselves up. The walls around us are drenched in chaotic graffiti. Cramped alleyways snake between them, reeking of damp concrete and something faintly sour. The air's heavy—thick with neglect, decay, and the kind of silence that makes your skin itch. Even the shadows feel like they're watching.
And still, somehow, this was the spot.
"What the heck were you doing in here?" Steph asks, her grip tight on the fencing sword she insisted on bringing. Her eyes glare at a man who hasn't stopped staring since we arrived. If looks could kill, he'd be bleeding out.
"Honestly... I don't even remember." Zach shrugs after a moment of blank thought. "But don't worry. Leave it to me. I'll take you to her in just a few minutes."
He steps ahead, puffing out his chest slightly—trying to project confidence. Dependability. Unfortunately, the sight of someone getting mugged far away behind him doesn't exactly reinforce the image.
"How far a walk is it?" Alister asks, stepping forward and squinting at his phone.
"Not that far. Just a 15-minute walk. I remember her shop. It's very...flashy." he says, grinning, and flails his arms in the air as an inviting gesture. "Relax. I'll make sure you're safe and unharmed."
The sudden glass that whizzes past his face and shatters onto the ground seems to be totally ignored by him. Our eyes move towards broken glass before moving in unison to where it came from, only to be met by a window slamming shut.
We're screwed...
"Follow me," Zach says, completely unfazed, and leads us deeper into the guts of the town.
As we walk, I slip my hand inside my purse, fingers brushing over the cold metal of my pistol. A small comfort. I hope I don't have to use it. Pretty sure I'm the only one armed with something like this. If anyone tries to get close—tries anything—I'll make sure they regret it.
The only problem is, I have three bullets.
People scurry along the cracked sidewalks with their heads down, eyes avoiding the figures that watch from doorways and alleys. The sound of distant sirens and the hum of motorcycles provide a constant background noise, a reminder that this is a place where the rule of law is often ignored.
They call this place the Savage Sector for a reason.
I've heard the gangs, kidnappers, thieves, and con artists roam the streets with confidence and brazenness. A testament to the fact that this is their domain.
Suddenly, my elbow brushes against something solid, sending a faint jolt through my arm. I sigh in relief as I take in the sight of Alister standing beside me. My relief turns to curiosity as I recall that he was walking ahead of us with Zach. And now he's here, right beside me.
I feel my lips curling upwards, the opportunity to tease presenting itself once again. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you just needed a reason to get close to me."
He narrows his eyes instead of giving me the reaction I hoped for. "This is neither the time nor the place for your antics." He says firmly.
I stop joking but lean in slightly. "Don't worry. I came prepared this time." I pat my purse, letting him fill in the rest.
Being in such a place really makes me conscious of my appearance and clothes. I hope I don't look expensive.
As I glance around, I notice the proliferation of seedy bars and rundown shops. The neon signs that advertise cheap liquor and desperation seem to flicker with a malevolent energy.
"What about them? What if they see you?" He gestures towards Stephanie, who closely follows Zach while he walks like this is just his everyday neighborhood.
"Who cares? I'm not letting any of us get hurt." I affirm, gripping the pistol tighter.
As we continue walking, the sound of our footsteps echoing through the air, I start to pick up on a subtle change in the cadence. Another pair of footsteps has fallen into step behind us, the sound faint but unmistakable.
At first, I think it might just be someone coincidentally walking in the same direction, but as the footsteps continue to mirror ours at every turn, I feel a growing sense of unease. My skin prickles with awareness, and I find myself glancing over my shoulder, trying to catch a glimpse.
I'm certain that someone is back there, watching us, tracking our every move.
As I scan our surroundings, I notice that we're not just being followed by someone on the street. There are people watching us from the windows of the buildings we pass.
We're not just being followed.
We're being observed.
Like mice set loose in a maze.
I glance over at Alister, wondering if he's noticed our audience, but his expression remains calm, his eyes fixed on the path ahead.
Despite his apparent nonchalance, I sense a heightened awareness emanating from him, a coiled tension that suggests he's ready to spring into action at a moment's notice. His hand's already in his coat pocket, where he might have hidden a knife.
He sensed it too. Good.
The tightened grip on Stephanie's sword and Zach's quicker and cautious steps suggest they know it too.
"I hate you, Zach. You fumbling idiot." Steph mutters.
"Just follow me," Zach says, his voice soft but urgent, as we step into an open space.
The broken fountain in the center stands alone with its cracked stone and rusty pipes.
Just as Zach is about to lead us forward, where the looming houses cast long, ominous shadows, a figure emerges from the darkness. My heart drops as I take in the sight of the man gripping a gun.
"Hands where I can see them," he commands. He glances at everyone before staring at me. Probably thinks I'm hiding something in my purse. Calling someone. Or holding something worse.
Stephanie hesitates for a heartbeat before letting go of her sword hilt and raising her hands.
As for me, I slip it up my sleeve in one smooth motion, tucking it against my forearm. Then I withdraw my hand from my purse, empty.
But Alister doesn't move. Doesn't raise his hands. He just glares at him, coldly, like the stranger is nothing more than a mildly irritating rock in his path. Then, without a word, he takes a step forward towards the man. And then another.
The stranger flinches slightly, eyes narrowing. He shifts, resteadies the weapon.
"I said put your hands up!" He snaps, voice louder now, with a fraying edge of uncertainty.
But Alister keeps walking. Slowly, like the bullet wouldn't dare meet him halfway.
The man's grip tightens around the trigger.
Panic claws up my throat. "Wait—" I rush forward and wedge myself between them, my palms flat against Alister's chest as I push him back. "Forgive him," I say quickly to the man. "He's not right in the head. Doesn't understand the situation he's in."
Alister's glare cuts to me. "Stop interfering," he growls under his breath.
"Listen," I lean in, teeth clenched as I whisper back. "You can play the fearless lunatic card when you're alone, but you're not. There are people with you this time. And they'll be the ones to pay if this goes wrong."
He glares past me at the gunman, then back down at me. "Why should I care?"
"Because it's your fault they're involved!" I snap back in a harsh whisper.
Alister sighs like this is all inconvenient. Once I stop where we were standing, he slides his hands from his coat pockets and lifts them in a gesture so casual it borders on mockery.
Finally, twelve other figures emerge from the shadows, their faces obscured by the darkness. Each of them wields a different weapon; baseball bats, knives, crowbars, another gun, and a pair of brass knuckles.
As the group of men closes in around us, we instinctively step back, pressing together to form a tight defensive circle. All of us—except Alister. He remains where he is, unmoved, calm, and silently watching them with a blank look.
Just as it seems like the situation can't get any more dire, a man steps forward from behind. He was following us. "Looks like some rich kids seem to have lost their way," A sly grin spreads across his face, revealing crooked yellow teeth and a cruel glint in his eye. He takes a step closer, his gun aimed at me.
I glare back at him. A scar above his left eyebrow and a silver earring in the shape of a skull do little to intimidate one who dances with death on a daily basis, albeit in my dreams. As he moves closer, the smell of stale cigarettes and cheap cologne wafts through the air, making me crave a cigarette so badly I'm almost tempted to ask him for one.
"I'm sorry for this," Zach whispers behind me. "I didn't expect them to carry guns so openly. But don't worry, I can take them down."
"Well, it's a free country, and this is their home. Of course they'll use guns!" Steph hisses back.
"Don't hurt them, fellows," a voice calls out with concern. "They don't pay full price if they're damaged."
The man infront of me stares greedily at the tiny golden heart necklace hanging from my neck. He steps towards me and reaches out a grimy hand, his fingers extending like claws. I feel Alister's form tense up behind me. The silent warning that he's ready to spring into action.
But I use my free hand to usher him to stop in his tracks.
Don't do it. Trust me. I have it all under control.
The man's filthy fingers close around the necklace. He gives it a sharp tug. I slightly stagger forward, letting him think he's got the upper hand.
Just a little bit closer.
"This looks like it'll fetch a pretty penny," he utters, his voice dripping with avarice. His breath wafts against my skin, stale and rank, making my stomach turn.
But then—out of the corner of my eye—I see it. Alister's nails glow faintly silver, pulsing like veins of moonlight.
No. Not now. Not here. Not in front of them.
I have to act fast.
"Alister!" I yell. "eight o'clock. Forty-five degrees!"
In one smooth motion, I pull out the big dart from my sleeve and drive it into the man's neck. His eyes widen in surprise just as Alister spins on his heel. With a flick of his wrist, his knife slices through the air in the direction I pointed out.
A choked cry erupts from above.
The blade lodges into the hand of the hidden gunman crouched on the balcony, biting into the flesh and bone. The weapon drops from his grasp as blood splatters around.
The man in front of me screams, grabbing at the dart embedded in his neck. His other hand fumbles with the trigger of his gun, and I see the moment he decides to shoot. I act first—slamming my palm down on his wrist, making the gun aim downwards.
The bullet hits the ground just inches from my feet, cracking concrete and kicking up dust. I yank the weapon from his hand and drive my heel into his gut. He hits the ground hard, coughing blood, the dart still lodged in his neck as dizziness takes hold.
Suddenly, a bullet whistles by my ear, close enough to steal the breath from my lungs. It strikes the wall ahead, detonating in a burst of brick and dust.
I quickly start moving to the side while aiming the stolen pistol at the gunman who tried to shoot me, standing on the opposite side of the street, his weapon still trained on me. My ears continue to ring as I fire again without hesitation, the pistol's report crisp and sharp. The bullet strikes the gunman's hand, blowing off his pointer finger, causing him to howl in pain as he drops his gun and clutches his badly wounded hand.
I blow the smoke off the pistol, like they do in movies, as it wafts lazily into the air, carrying with it the acrid scent of gunpowder, which I inhale deeply. I use the pistol to gently tap my head, the metallic clang a strange sort of comfort as I try to silence the ringing in my ears.
I'm ready to strike again, but I notice...I don't have to.
Alister is in the middle of unleashing a flurry of knives at the remaining gunman. The blades flying through the air with precise aim. The man attempts to dodge, but the knives strike their mark.
Stephanie dances through the melee with her sword. The footwork is beautiful. Step, pivot, lunge, and recover. Her blade whispers as it slices through air and flesh alike.
Wait… That isn't a fencing saber. Those things aren't sharp.
My eyes narrow.
It's a rapier. A real one.
Is this what she practices with?
She spins, ponytail trailing behind her like a war flag. Blood spatters in an arc as her sword rips into another man's side.
The sound of someone yelling among the other cries of pain makes me flinch.
"Now look what you made me do. I feel disgusted."
Zach engaged is in a brutal fistfight with the remaining men. He managed to wrestle the brass knuckles off one of the thugs, and he's using them to devastating effect. The sound of crunching bone and snapping cartilage fills the air as he takes down his opponents.
But his expression doesn't match the violence. He looks... bored. Like he'd rather be doing anything else.